


Traum vom Tod

by Billywick



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Death really had to sacrifice himself for his little brother, War, and was reborn as a human? How far will War go to retrieve the one brother he cannot be without?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traum vom Tod

**Author's Note:**

> rp style, lots of pov hopping. Oh, I suppose I ought to warn for incest ahead, but how blood-related are they really?

Pain had always been some kind of companion to him.  
Through countless battles, through the long days of his youth where he had painfully missed companions and most of all his siblings, through his last journey to cleanse his own name...

But it had never been able to force him onto his knees, like it did now and had for what felt like half an eternity.  
War was hanging in his chains, body loose and tired, wrist and neck and the ankles of his naked feet sore and bleeding. There was light shining down on him ever so brightly, always day in the brightest sunlight.

At first he had thought they wanted to kill him, but by now he had been in this place the Council had banned him to for long enough to know this was worse than death.

Death.

He had thought about his siblings when he was still living enough to be able to think. The Seventh Seal had been broken, they must have heard the Call...  
Surely, they had heard of his punishment. And maybe, and that was probably the only thing that kept him in his state of not wanting to die was that one of his siblings was probably out to find out what happened to him. And if they knew, they would believe in him and get the Council to set him free.

And if War had to bet which one would come for him, he would instantly make his choice.

*

“We did not expect to see you here again, Death.”

The three stone heads physically representing the Charred Council stared down at the pale Nephilim they had chosen together with his three siblings to watch over the balance. Death looked as always, his mask obscuring his features, his eyes glowing in a green light. But something about his stance told even the Council that he wasn’t here as a beggar for his brother’s redemption.

Being the wisest and most fair of the three heads, the third one began to speak. “Death, you redeemed your brother’s honour and cleaned his name. Humankind was restored through your sacrifice. You asked for his freedom and his life, should you manage to renew what he destroyed...”

A pause.  
But before the Nephilim could raise his voice, a portal appeared in front of him, on the ground. Inside of it, or rather, through it, a lone piece of stone floating around in a bright nothingness could be seen and on it, chained to what looked like some kind of altar, was War, stripped of his armour, his sword, they had even taken away his hood.

He would not have long to reunite with his brother, but Death put aside his imminent demise at the sight of War. He looked pitiful, chained like a wild beast and stripped off his pride and weapons.

It only took two heartbeats to cut his brother down from where he was so obscenely displayed. His body, though weary and tired from his long ordeal, crumpled into Death’s arms. 

“Brother,” the voice behind the mask was calm, but a far cry from the cool, unaffected tone the Horseman took with the rest of creation. This was his little brother, troublemaker, irritant, rash and brazen War. How could he have fallen so far? Had Death not paid closer heed to his youngest sibling? Was War truly so unwise to forsake all the wisdom bestowed upon him?

Death knew War was innocent of the crime he’d been punished for, but along his journey, Death understood what exactly War was capable of, what he’d done in order to clear his name and what exactly he planned to do to the Charred Council.

It did not bode well that his little brother had broken the seventh seal, summoned the apocalypse to turn on their masters.

But this was not the moment to consider the implications of War’s actions. The time he had with his dear sibling was short indeed. War was heavy in his arms, but also so very lacklustre. The Nephilim gave him a little shake, mourning the vivacious glare he would have earned under different circumstances.

“Rouse yourself, War, you are free.”

His brother’s voice, his hands on him, his body offering a place to lean on, the mere presence of the eldest Horseman... All of that managed to make War stir, let him open his eyes slowly and look at his brother for a good long while. 

“You’ve come for me”, he brought out, voice hoarse and quiet, but there was no doubt Death wouldn’t miss his words.

It took some effort, definitely, to get up on his own two feet, Death had to support him fully. Under different circumstances, War would have hated to be forced to rely so heavily, literally, on his brother, but this time he might even be glad Death was so close to him and would face the Council together with him.

The portal disappeared behind them as they stood in front of the Council. Silence reigned over the place as the Council stared down at the Nephilim they had just set free.

War looked as if he was in no condition to stand up for himself and yet he raised his head, long white strands falling into his face.  
“Where’s Ruin?”, he brought out, voice still broken and not nearly as intimidating as he wanted it to sound like.

“He too was chained, I demand his freedom!”

“You are in no position to demand, War!” The first head sounded angered, it was known to have a shorter temper than its brethren, “If anything, beg for your horse’s life and we might set him free.”

Begging was a thing that rang so disgustingly in his ears he would have rather forsaken his own life and died a cruel death before he would beg.  
Pride would have kept him from it, but it was not what would help him here.  
It was not what had allowed his brother to save him.  
Death too had been a beggar in front of the council, Death too had asked for an option to redeem him.  
And the least thing he could do was follow his brother’s example.

War’s head hung low and his blue gaze was directed at the scorched ground as he spoke,

“I humbly ask for my steed’s freedom. He did nothing but follow my orders and should not be further punished for my flaws, Council. I do not demand him back, but I beg for him to be as free as I am.”

“Do not abuse your power,” Death seemed less than pleased to have his brother beg for anything, especially from the council that would have him rot away if not offered a better deal. He himself would not be sacrificing his horse for the council’s pleasure though. They could claim his life for his brother’s, but their steeds were innocent in all of this.

The council’s impassive faces flickered with the fire charring the rock of their fanged mouths, then another portal opened and Ruin, looking fierce as ever even if he was on the thinner side now, appeared in a flickering storm of flames.

Death looked at the relief on War’s face, pleased that his brother was not too decayed to feel happiness at the sight of his horse, when the Council took up word with him again.

“The time has come for the price to be paid, Horseman.”

The pale rider answered with silence, slowly stepping away from his brother and towards the edge of nothingness, above which the council towered.

“Remember the wisdom passed to you, my brother.”  
War’s expression changed in the blink of an eye. He stared at his brother.   
“What are you... Brother!” Two steps on shaky feet and he grabbed his brother’s arm with his one remaining hand, “What price? For....”

For what, he had been inclined to ask, but his eyes widened as the truth dawned on him. Death had sacrificed himself for him and had only been granted a short amount of time to demand War’s freedom.

“No, Brother, no, you... you cannot do this! This is not how this...” He turned around, holding his brother close, a well known spark of wrath flickering in his eyes now as he faced the Council.  
“You are not taking my brother from me. I would rather you chain me back onto that stone!”

The Council remained silent and War felt his brother carefully detaching himself from his grip.

War stared at him.  
“Don’t”, he said, and his voice was quiet now, pleading even, as if he was the mere boy again he had been hundreds of years ago.  
But just like Death had left him back then, told him he was ready to fight on his own now and then disappeared, he would leave him now, War knew it.

He lowered his head, unable to look at his brother, fighting the wrench in his heart that constricted both his chest and his throat now.

Death turned around and stepped towards the edge. Still, the Council remained silent. No big speech, no thanking for the work Death had done for them, not even one word.

War’s hand clenched and he lunged forward as his brother stepped over the edge, catching his hand, holding him. He leaned as close as possible, muscles in his arms protesting as they were not used to holding heavy things anymore.

“I will find you, brother.”

“Death will never die, War,” Death ran his hand over his brother’s one last time, before loosening the desperate grip and freeing himself into a fall from the cliff.

The Council flared up as they received a soul so grand and old, took back power once granted to the pale Nephilim in their service.

“Your debt is paid. His life for yours, War. You may leave.”

Outside of the murky cavern the Council resided in when speaking with their enforcers stood Despair, patiently awaiting his master’s return.

War had never felt more empty in his entire life.  
Now that his brother was gone, there was a void somewhere inside of him he had not known Death had filled all those years until now. He was quite sure it wasn’t only because they were the last Nephilim granted special powers and a special bond, but also because of the personal, very deep care he had always had for his brother and knew Death reciprocated in the same way.

They had never openly spoken about it but when War’s gaze fell on Despair whose ears stood to attention as the ghostly horse sensed its brother as well as War close.  
Ruin, on which War had been leaning greeted his brother with a snort and a rub of their heads against each other, but Despair didn’t seem to be satisfied.

War swallowed a lump in his throat he didn’t even know had been there and grabbed the pale horse’s head with one hand, leaning his head against the steed’s.

“I swear to you I’m gonna find him, Despair, but for now... he’s... He’s not coming back.” 

The pale horse gave a whicker that sounded like a sad keen as he understood what War told him. The horse was a vestige of Death’s power and he felt the loss as strongly as the Horseman’s brother, if not worse.

With a heartbreaking neigh, he pulled his head from War’s embrace and reared, disappearing in a show of green flames. Death was truly gone now as the last, pale green embers dissipated.

*  
A new day dawned and his alarm rang shrill through the comforts of the morning. His name is Mort Morrigan and mornings may just be his least favourite time of any day. With a sigh and a groan, the alarm clock met its match and the pale young man peeled himself from bed.

Another day of work lay ahead of him and though most people would balk at the thought of dealing with the freshly deceased, Mort did not. It wasn’t his calling, but it was incredibly calming. Death had finality and those that experienced it were at peace. Mort thought it fitting to give them the last respects, which was how he landed his internship and job at a funeral service. He didn’t do that much, he prepared the bodies only marginally, drove the hearse (or carriage) and helped with the grave-digging.

The irony of his name and profession was not lost on him.

It was about ten in the morning when the young man arrived at the cemetery, armed with a shovel, ready to start his work.   
His co-worker had just called and told him he was sick today so Mort was definitely looking forward onto a long day of literal grave-digging.

The cemetery was a small one, too small for any kind of dredge to do the work and so, everything had to be done by hand.

After lunchbreak, his boss wanted to speak with him, asking him to replace the sick colleague on a funeral service the next day. Since his boss definitely was one of the more chatty people roaming Earth, Mort was obliged to stay in the small office for far longer than he liked to.

The sun was already hanging low on the horizon, colouring the graveyard in a deep orange which, in summer, meant he had been here far longer than Mort had suspected.

He was alone here by now, the last people that had silently been greeting their dead family, partners or friends had left and yet he wasn’t.

*

War took a deep breath as he exited the portal in the rose window of a little chapel. Earth’s air wasn’t anything like the air in Heaven or not to speak of Eden, but it definitely was cleaner than all the other places he had been. Especially Hell, Hell stank.

How long had it taken him to locate his brother’s soul? Two decades? Three? Maybe even four?  
For a moment, War considered to call for his loyal mount, but this place seemed too serene for now to let Ruin’s hooves scorch the ground.  
The youngest Horseman had become more careful with what he did on Earth and what not.

True, the Council probably didn’t want him to be here, but he didn’t have a Watcher with him anyway, so he was free to go where he wanted to, exactly what Death had wanted.

Somewhere here, his brother’s soul was located. The irony of the graveyard was lost on War since he was set on searching alone.

Instead of climbing over gravestones and trampling over flowers which he would have done in earlier times, War chose to take the pathways, always led by a simple feeling he couldn’t quite describe.

It led him around the chapel to the other side of the graveyard where a dark-haired young man was apparently battling with putting a shovel into some kind of tiny shovel-house, it looked like a mockery of Death’s impressive collection of scythes he had kept in a similar way.

The continuous clinkclinkclink! of his armour had probably stirred the man’s interest for he stopped in his work, but didn’t turn around yet.

“Brother?”  
War’s voice was as deep as ever, he had had quite some time to recover his strength by now and he had done so pretty well, but it bore a rather obvious amount of affection.  
The damn shovels were driving him insane. They never seemed to fit into the tiny shed, no matter how much force or care was employed. 

The weird noise behind him had Mort turn, just to have his jaw drop as a very large man dressed in very real armour came striding towards him, eyes shining brightly beneath a blood-red hood.

Mort gave a little squeak and the shovels came tumbling out of the shed, burying the young man in a shower of rusty metal and worn wood.

From the floor, the man looked even more intimidating, endless miles of metal and weapons etching themselves into Mort’s vision. What kind of psychopathic Larp-playing maniac would stomp around here?

“Wh...Can I help...you, sir?”

War blinked and his eyes widened a little as he regarded his brother, buried underneath the shovels.

Sir? That... surely, that was some kind of title, Death couldn’t really think this was his name, right?

He offered his mechanic hand to help him up. His brother looked so tiny...

War took off his hood, white hair falling into his face and his eyes losing a bit of the dangerous glow they had had before. Now though, the ever-glinting mark on his forehead was visible.

“Don’t you remember me, Brother?”

The revelation of the guy’s face didn’t help Mort relax a single little bit. Now the glow of his eyes, the mark on his forehead and his weird white hair were only freaking the young man out further.

“Uhm, I think you have me confused with someone there, guy.”

He picked himself out of the shovels and tools, straightening up and yet barely reaching the tall man’s chest. God, he was a big guy.

War stared at him again. It was weird to see his brother’s face all the time, without the mask, without his glowing eyes (though he had to admit, this man’s eyes were almost too green to be entirely human)...

“I am pretty sure this is not a confusion. My name is War, I am your brother. I tracked your soul for decades now and finally found it - you.”  
The young man kept staring at him, his expression still one of fear.  
“You don’t remember, do you?”  
This was turning out to be far more difficult than he had expected.

“And you don’t believe me either, I suppose...”

War sighed and grabbed the pale man’s shoulder, which made him freeze in shock or whatever it was.  
The Nephilim noticed and let go instantly, “Apologies, brother... It is rare to see fear in your eyes, let alone have it directed at me...”

Mort was about two minutes from freaking out, shortly followed by a heart attack. The guy’s hand was huge and metallic and possibly robotic, and the words from his mouth, enunciated with flashes of pointed teeth did absolutely nothing to assuage his terror.

“Just...what do you mean your name is War? What kind of name is War?! What country are you from, man? What do you want from me? Money? Look you don’t have to do all this psycho shit okay? And I’m not your brother, I can’t be, I don’t have one!”

War shook his head lightly.  
“You don’t have one brother, you have two. And a sister. You have been reborn human, brother, yet I don’t know how much your soul affects your body. You might possess some rather.. inhuman features. Have you...”  
His brother was backing off from him and that shut him up. Seeing Death afraid was so foreign to War, he didn’t dare to fuel it further.

“I see you might need time. Please, take at least Dust with you to message me should you wish to see me.”  
As he spoke the name, a large crow appeared with a cloud of some weird violet fog around it and croaked, then set off War’s arm and landed on the shovel Mort had rammed into the ground next to him.

It was a dream. Some sort of nightmare, fuelled by the unsavoury scent of the ointments they used to mask the stench of decay in the display room, surely. This being was beyond a man, he was huge and otherworldly and he spoke so strangely. As if he truly were from another realm of existence.

The bird’s croak made him jump and he glared at the large crow, though shrank back at the intelligence in its eyes.

“Did that thing just wink at me?” he jabbed a finger in direction of the creature, then looked back at War.

“Are you trying to say you’re some mythical creature called War? Wait...like, Apocalypse War? Hah, that is...a really ridiculous idea man, what did you smoke?”

War cocked his head, much like the crow did when Mort pointed at him.

“Yes, I am indeed a Horseman. Do you remember?” There was hope in his voice now, but when the man frowned at him as if he were a hopeless case, War sighed.

“I am no mythical creature, I am one of the last Nephilim. And so were you, before you died for...”  
He couldn’t tell that to him, could he? It was supposed to be a bit more careful with all of the history. Maybe it was easier if Death remembered on his own.

“What is your earthly name now, Brother? I believe you do not wish for me to call you brother if you do not remember...”

“No, thanks, I’d rather you didn’t. It’s...uh..Mort. Mort Morrigan.” 

Goddamnit, did he have to have such a weird name? It would probably please this weirdo and make him insist he was his brother again. Wait. If this guy, nutty as he was, thought he was War, what did that make him? Some crazy rider to bring the end of days?

This was definitely a dream and Mort let out a hysterical little laugh.

“So, what am I then? Pestilence? I don’t really get sick though, maybe Famine? Is that a thing still? I always thought it was a bit strange to replace Conquest with Famine.”

Mort? War chuckled quietly as he regarded his brother with a soft expression, well, as soft as his usually grim features allowed.  
“Destiny likes to play with you, br.... Mort.”

Since his brother seemed to be up for a talk, War took a more relaxed stance.  
“You are, and Dust here agrees with me”, as he said that, the large crow settled down on Mort’s shoulder and croaked, “the Horseman of Death, though.. uhm, the representation”, War waved with his hand, armour clinking, “in this book, what’s it called? Bibur? However, the representation of the Four does not directly relate to reality. Our siblings are Strife and Fury. It is a long story, do you wish for me to tell it to you? If so, here?”

Why the hell not? The weirdo was intimidating as fuck, but apart from giving him a strange bird and insisting that he was something magical and otherworldly, he didn’t seem to want to cause him any harm. That rated him highly in Mort’s book of freakish nightmare apparitions.

“...I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t. But, uh, I still think you’re crazy. Or a dream.”

The notion of a dream made War laugh. It was a hoarse noise, as if he didn’t do it often and to be honest, he didn’t. Especially not since the death of his eldest brother.

“You were born a Nephilim, a being neither demon nor angel, but far older and far mightier than those. Some people say Nephilim have been created by the mixture of the dust of both demons and angels. However, the Nephilim sought to conquer both heaven, hell and also the Creator’s Realm, always battling, always pushing.  
You had enough of this one day and so did we. I was a mere lad back then, but I followed you. So did Strife and Fury. We were granted immense power in order to maintain the balance which resulted in slaying all our kinsmen. And to follow orders of the Charred Council.”

War sighed as he saw Mort’s expression, “You probably still think this is a dream, don’t you?”

He came closer and took the human’s shoulders in both of his hands, looking down at him (which was weird in itself, because Death had always been taller than him...).  
“In any case.. I promised you to find you. And by finding, I never meant only physically. I promised you I would make you remember and that is why I’m-...”

A rumble went through the earth beneath them and War looked up. 

“It seems I’m not the only one who came to Earth...”

The words from the man’s lips spilled only more fairy tales, fantastic stories that could not be true, they defied all human knowledge and sense. The existence of heaven and hell was never a concern for Mort, somewhat of an agnostic in that department. His closeness with death itself would have been very strangely explained by all of this, but he couldn’t fathom to believe in War’s story. 

Disbelief fell to wonder, the young man’s face fixated on War as he heard, but did not understand. The Horseman of Death? Nephilim? God, this dream would not end. 

The rumbling felt like an earthquake, unusual in these parts but something he could grasp within his understanding.

“Fuck, what is that?” 

War looked knowing and that didn’t bode well. Was he about to face the next level of his nightmare?

“Do you have some place to go to?”, War asked carefully, “If so, I would like to ask you to leave now, Mort.”  
He wasn’t looking at his brother anymore, instead focused on the silent graveyard around them.  
“Quickly. Dust will not leave your side.”

Whatever had just arrived here was coming closer, he could sense it. War took the sword off of his back, holding the massive blade easily in his right hand.

“Leave”, he growled, as a portal appeared in front of them and green fog began to emerge. 

War surged forward as soon as the creature began materialising. Chaoseater light as ever in his hand sliced through the air as he managed to cut off the undead soldier’s arm wielding a massive warhammer.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Mort might have been reluctant, right until he saw the portal open up and something emerge from it. Fuck this shit, he was done with this dream by now. As quickly as he could, he made a run for the small church, not because it had holy connotations, but because it was in fact a building with massive wooden doors that gave safety. 

The crow fluttered beside him, glowing and too big to be a normal bird, but Mort had little time for that. He bolted the doors shut, collapsing into the pews. The sounds of battle raged outside and he was drawn to the small slit in the door, to peer through. And what he saw stole his breath away.

War honoured his name, so much had to be said. Chaoseater cut through undead limbs and took armour apart. Wherever his sword was parried, the Nephilim’s artificial hand came up to break necks, throw enemies away or simply crush heads.

It seemed this was only a small brigade of seekers, but sooner or later they would face a far bigger threat.  
If Death was what they were after, they, or rather, the human now known as Mort, were in big trouble.  
Apparently, someone besides War had an interest in the Horseman’s soul.

But as he remembered that, his fighting only got more violent and the battle was over within mere seconds.  
Death was his brother and he would not be used for someone’s plan. Not as long as War was alive.

Dust croaked loudly as War lowered Chaoseater and the Nephilim’s blue eyes flashed as he surged towards the chapel’s door, artificial hand ripping through thick wood as he followed the crow’s warning and threw himself over his brother, rolling away with him. A portal appeared where Mort had been standing and the skeleton mage that had summoned it turned its fleshless features toward them.  
Quickly, he was up on his feet again, grabbing the creature’s neck and leg. It was easy to break its spine over his knee. To be entirely sure the thing would not come back, he removed the head, too.

“Are you alright, brother?”  
Again, War offered a hand to help the human up.

Mort scrambled away from where he’d been thrown by the defensive efforts of War. This wasn’t a dream, was it? No. Everything felt real, the bird, the man-mountain who called himself War and just showed Mort the most violent thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. 

Shaking was just a few of the things wrong with him right now.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what were those things?! What did they want? Were they after you?!” 

War scrunched his nose in an irritated manner. He really had to get used to this weird human swearing his brother did all the time...  
“I presume they are after you.”

Mort looked mortified and War pulled up his hood again. “Dust will warn you if your enemies are nearby, never underestimate him. I will have to leave you for a short while to find a clue as to why they are after you. Dust will let me know if you need my aid and I’ll be there.”  
He took a few steps and grabbed his brother’s shoulders again, towering over him a little. “I’d gladly give my own life for yours. Repay the debt.”

And with that he left the chapel. When Mort went after him, War was already gone. The only thing that stayed was the large crow.

*

Nothing happened the next day. Nor the day after that. Dust was always there somehow, watching over him, but no War.  
As if everything, except for the weird crow had been a bad dream.

Mort began to think that maybe it was all a dream. The longer he thought about it, the crazier it sounded. He told no one, of course, who would believe him? 

The crow stayed with him though, served as an anchor that the madness had been truth no matter how many times Mort considered it all to be unreal.

War would not leave him in peace. The man had come to him, to protect him, to find him...to bring him back to wherever he came from? 

If he really was Death, then why was he human? And what did War mean by repaying the debt? Mort couldn’t find sleep, nor concentrate on his work. Everything was spinning and no one could catch him, he was alone, no War, no sign.

As he was walking back from work, late in the afternoon, a summery afternoon, but no people on the small street he was taking back home, a loud croak disturbed the young man’s peace and Dust came to settle down on his shoulder, still noisy. 

Someone tapped on Mort’s shoulder.

“Excuse me”, the girl next to him said at the startled expression she received, “Sorry, you look like you’ve been expecting a monster. I wanted to know if you can help me? I’m new here and I’m searching for the church here, I’ve looked all around, but I can’t find it, can you maybe bring me there?”

Mort would have to stop expecting undead beasts appearing to slay him, because even the gentle tap nearly gave him a heart attack. Dust’s croak was too late to grasp his attention.

Thankfully, this time, it was a pretty girl who wanted his attention and not a frightening, large man with a sword too big to be real.

“Oh...uh, yeah, I work near there, I’ll take you.”

Maybe a nice walk with a nice girl would be just the sort of thing to get him to calm the heck down about his life.

“So, uh, why do you want to find the church? Are you religious?”

The girl gave him a big smile. “Hmm, depends on how you see it. I would say I have a heart for nice stories, and the Bible offers a very interesting interpretation. What about you? Do you believe in Heaven and Hell?”

Dust switched the shoulder and attacked the girl’s shoulder with his beak, leaving a bleeding little wound.  
“Ow, your crow doesn’t seem to like me...”  
She switched sides and walked on the other side of the human. “It’s fine, I have a cat, she’s giving me scratches all the time...”

By now, the wound on her shoulder was healed anyway.

“So, what is your name?”, she wanted to know, “I’m Mary.”

The young man swatted at the bird, getting ahold of Dust’s beak and holding it shut. This was embarrassing. Weren’t mythologically given creatures supposed to help you get a girl, not attack her?

Mary seemed nice enough and Mort offered her a coy smile, hiding mostly behind his long, dark hair.

“I’m Mort. Yeah I know it’s a weird name. This bird is...Dust, but he’s not really mine...someone gave him to me. Sorry about that.”

She touched his arm softly, squeezing the muscles there slightly. “Don’t worry”, Mary said, reciprocating the smile.  
“I don’t think it’s a weird name at all. Trust me, I’ve heard far weirder names. I’m not from here.”

They were getting closer to the church as Mary talked about her art studies, how she got here in the first place, asked Mort for his cellphone number which he was allowed to write on her arm which offered Dust another possibility to attack the girl and croak.

Mary laughed it off and made sure to put distance between her and the bird. “I guess he doesn’t like rivalry for his master’s affections.” She offered Mort a sweet smile, “Do you still have some time left? If you work here, maybe you could show me a way up to the rose window...?”

They entered the empty church. A warm light fell through the coloured windows, especially through the big rose window with the little balcony in front of it.

“I’d like to see it from up close...”

And then everything happened too fast to keep track.  
Mort was pushed aside and a broad sword split open the girl’s chest before War lifted her up like some puppet, talking to her.   
“Filth”, he spat, “Who sent you?”

Mary gave a gurgling noise, turned her eyes to Mort and brought out, “Help... me...”

War shook her so she slid down further on Chaoseater, “Don’t you dare beg my brother for help! Who sent you?”

The noise from Mort’s mouth was almost inhuman, eyes impossibly wide as he stared at the bleeding, impaled girl. The nightmare was back and it was gruesome as ever. 

“What the fuck are you doing?! You’re killing her!” He was freaking out and he didn’t care, moving to pull at War’s arm, not sure if he should pull the enormous blade out or keep it in, either way things looked grim for his new acquaintance.

“You’re fucking killing her! You psycho!”

“Annihilation of this beast is what I’m here for, didn’t you understand Dust’s warning?”

War growled and swung his swordarm so the girl flew into the next corner.  
There, she turned, into something gruesome, a being half snake half woman with monstrous teeth piercing through her own skin and cruel black eyes.  
“Look at it, brother, and tell me once again you don’t believe me.”

War seemed angry, but calmed down as soon as he had walked over and stomped on the creature’s head.  
The corpse disappeared in green fog.

“Let me show you why she wanted to take you to the window...”

He returned to his brother, Chaoseater on his back and wrapped one arm around him, jumped and big black wings appeared out of nowhere, carrying them both up a little further so much so War could land on the balcony’s railing.  
He fumbled around with his artificial arm and then shot some kind of lightning projectile at the window which opened a portal through which they could see straight to Hell.

“Do you believe me now?”

*

No, his brother still didn’t believe him.  
War had already figured it would be a long journey until he did, but the human Death had become was as stubborn as a child.  
And it had been War the older Nephilim had described as stubborn at times...

Mort had sent him away after the incident at the chapel and War had grimly followed the instructions. He was convinced his now human brother would sooner or later recognize him.

It was another beautiful day on Earth, even War had to admit this place looked far more like Heaven than Hell now.  
Last time he had been here, everything had been destroyed, the human kingdom was in ruins, and undead and hellish creatures had reigned the surface.

Since Mort had growled at him to stay out of his life, War supervised the human with the help of Dust. The crow could call him whenever he was needed.

War decided to stay on Earth for now, as jumping Realms, even with Ruin’s help, would maybe cost him the seconds that really mattered to save his brother’s life.

The Nephilim was staying in the little, run down cathedral at the other end of the graveyard where his brother obviously worked. No one dared to go here and he had accidentally scared away some teenagers that obviously were aiming to perform some kind of religious rite. War didn’t understand but they had stared at him as if he were a ghost and ran away screaming.

Right now, he had climbed up onto the tower and was watching the people on the graveyard and around it. He had taken off his hood for now and couldn’t deny he was enjoying the warm sun and fresh air a little.

Until suddenly, he heard a loud croak.  
Without wasting a single second, War jumped off of the building, leaving a crater in the ground where he hit it.  
While he ran, Ruin burst from the ground, all flames and scorched earth around him. 

His brother was in trouble and he would be there for him, again and again and again, until he remembered. Just like Death had always been for him.

*

People were screaming, some cars had crashed and were even burning as the monstrous creature raged on one of the rather filled streets.   
War’s blue, pupil-less eyes wandered around, searching for his brother.

He found him, horrified, squeezed against a car. The monster was definitely after him, it was close now and raised its claws to either snatch away the human or snap him in half.  
Whatever it was, it never finished what it begun.

War caught the claw with his metal hand while the other drew Chaoseater in a beautiful swing that had the blade buzz with deadly energy. It slashed deep into the beast’s side, but War had not calculated with its tail that hit him hard in the side.  
For a second, he couldn’t breathe and the creature, dull as it looked, but intelligent as it probably was, raised its claw.  
An earth-shattering neigh followed by a burst of flames had some more people scream, but Ruin wasn’t done yet. The steed kicked the creature hard enough to send it flying backwards.  
Quickly, War mounted but didn’t even need to push Ruin further for he jumped forward towards the creature.  
Two slashes with Chaoseater later, the beast was done for.

Life had been pretty okay ever since he told that enormous, violent weirdo to stay out of it. Mort even managed to forget most of the horrible sights he’d seen. Well, not forget, more like denied their actual reality. 

Maybe he’d had a bad trip and just couldn’t remember taking whichever drug it was. Probably something crazy one of his very alternative friends grew themselves and talked him into. 

It wasn’t as if Mort led a very unorthodox lifestyle, but somehow, he was a magnet for all things weird and slightly macabre. He’d always blamed it on his mother for naming him Mort fucking Morrigan.

Today, every delusion he’d been happy in fell to pieces, slashed away by monstrous claws that showered him in the blood of strangers unfortunate enough to be between the beast and him. That thing, it was gunning for him. There was no mistaking the way its disgusting, bright yellow eyes clung to him with the greed of a crowous predator. 

He’d been lucky he had the sense to run, vault and hide. His heart nearly stopped when the monster began throwing cars out of the way, charging after him with vicious intent.

And there he was.

That big, irritating, super violent weirdo. His savior, even beyond the nightmare his arrival had caused.

Mort had never been so glad of brutal, maniacal man-mountains before in his life.

Ruin gave a snort as he turned and glared at the people around them. Some of them were clearly recording the incident on video. War’s eyes though were on his brother and he left his steed’s strong back to help up his brother who was paler than ever.  
“Brother, are you alright?”

This time, he didn’t offer him a hand, he simply pulled him up and since War was too big to be a comfortable support, he simply scooped him up.  
Then his eyes landed on one of the people staring at them, holding an iphone up, apparently filming War and his brother.  
The Nephilim took a step, reached for the device with his normal hand and crushed it between two fingers, letting the crumbs rain down on the shocked owner’s hand.

“Do not point devices at my brother. I might interpret it as an act of aggression.”

Then he mounted Ruin again and they disappeared in a flurry of flames.

And appeared in the cathedral.

Mort didn’t exactly have the mind, mood or breath to argue being picked up like a sack of grain and taken away on a fiery steed. No, he was going to be the little quiet maiden about to have a heart attack because there was something deeply wrong with travelling via flaming horse.

At least he sort of recognized the interior of a cathedral. Huh, War really dug this kind of old building, didn’t he, it suited his psychopathic behaviourism.

“Okay, alright, put me down, nice and slow and not on fire.”

War did as he was asked, but his hands lingered a little longer on the young human’s shoulders as if he was making sure he was definitely okay.

“Brother... Someone is after you. I cannot leave your side, not to speak of leaving this realm to find out who. You need to be able to fend off enemies on your own.”

The Nephilim’s blue eyes were on Mort again, seeking for something. He didn’t find it what made him sigh, but he opened his hands, palms up, and offered them to the human.

One of his sickle-blades laid inside of it, invisible to the disbelieving eye.

War’s eyes filled with hope as he looked at his brother.  
“A part of your scythe, brother. Do you hear its call?”

because the blade clearly sensed its owner. It exuded a violet light and vibrated ever so slightly in War’s hands.

Not leave his side? Nevermind that, why was this crazy nightmare still happening? Mort was pretty sure all the weirdness would be purged from his life once War didn’t hang around anymore, but apparently, he’d been very, very wrong. 

Something was determined to frighten him to death and it was doing a pretty good job at it too.

War was blubbering something about a weapon, but Mort was transfixed by the scythe in his hands. It was beautiful and terrible, glowed with killing intent and the tales of reaped lives. This was supposed to be his tool of the trade?

Gingerly he reached out towards it, clamped thin fingers around the middle but did not intend to lift it just yet.

“Harvester...” he muttered beneath his breath.

War’s bright eyes widened. He saw his weapon, remembered it even, at least that.   
“That is your scythe’s name, yes”, he confirmed, patiently waiting until his human-turned brother took the blade out of his hands.

It took Mort a few seconds to process the memories he just received before he tried to lift the weapon.  
Emphasis on tried to, because even the first part of his scythe seemed to be entirely too heavy for the human.  
When Mort had successfully pulled Harvester’s part one out of his hand and was holding it with a grim expression in both of his hands, War raised his hand again and another sickle appeared. “Harvester has two parts”, he explained, surveying Mort’s reaction, “You can use it for double-handed combat, too.”

“Double...what? Are you kidding me?”  
Mort was struggling to hold up the incredibly heavy scythe, only to learn it was merely half of what his...horseman self carried.

He must have ridiculous amounts of strength to wield such a thing. Mort watched as War clicked the second half onto the other end and then let go.

With all the grace of a falling tree, the human keeled over under the weight of the scythe.

War couldn’t help but pity his brother a little. He had not been expecting this. Inhabitants of the Third Kingdom were weak, that he had always known, but his brother had a Nephilim soul and he had been kind of hoping this would show off somehow.

He knelt down, armour clinking and offered Mort a hand to get up again.

The young man ignored him though and forced his own body up by himself, muscles on his arms tensed to the extreme to be able to hold up the weight of the scythe in his hands.

At least his spirit wasn’t weak, War told himself and nodded slightly at the human before he began stripping off most of his armour, including the hood. 

“You are in dire need for some training. Harvester needs to be wielded with supreme skill. The more skill you show, the lighter it gets. Come...”

They left the chapel that was now beautifully illuminated in warm, colourful light the setting sun sent through the rose windows.

Outside, no people were to be seen, this was the old part of the graveyard after all. The part where people laid that couldn’t be mourned anymore since their family was mostly buried on the newer part of the place.

“You are Death, Horseman of the Apocalypse and a Nephilim, Mort. Remember the wisdom passed to you, brother.”

And then, War pulled Chaoseater, the cursed blade reflecting the sunlight beautifully, before he charged forward to attack his human brother.

*

Mort had never screamed so much and so loudly in all of his life as when War charged at him. Or trained him. Though being chased by an enormous mountain of muscle and anger hardly felt like any kind of useful exercise to him. At some point, War got so frustrated with Mort’s lack of progress he summoned his terrifying, burning horse again and the human abandoned the scythe all together, vaulting over headstones and old statues and finding a crevice to hide in.

Eventually, the Horseman seemed to get a clue that chasing Mort with his enormous sword (he had to wonder about compensation of apocalyptic manhood sizes when he compared Chaoseater and Harvester) was NOT a good way to train him, he insisted on the human to practice with an old, mostly dead tree. Not to fight, but just to wield Harvester, to grow used to the weapon.

And it was still enough to utterly exhaust Mort. So much so, that he missed all thirteen text messages inviting him out for the night.

“If you tell me to get back to my feet one more time I’m gonna die.”

War had been observing his brother’s progress ever since he had started to hack his scythe in a very plump manner into the dead tree.  
Countless times he had told him to get up again, had even pulled him onto his feet the last thirty times.  
To War, this was how training worked. After all, this was how Death himself had trained him when he had still been a young Nephilim, eager for battle and yet lacking so much skill he would have lost his head countless of times if it hadn’t been for his siblings.

Watching Mort made him miss his brother more than ever.  
It was one thing to be on a constant quest to search for his brother’s soul, with hope burning brightly in his heart. But it was a completely different thing to finally find it and then realize his brother was not even a shadow of his former self anymore.

Of course he wouldn’t tell that to the human.  
Another thing he wouldn’t tell him for now was the blinking little device he had found in his brother’s way too soft clothes. The pile of hoodie and shirt Mort had taken off had given off sounds interesting enough to stir the Nephilim’s interest.  
Soon enough he had found the origin of the noise, a small plastic and metal device that blinked. He had seen it before, humans had held those into his direction when he had saved his brother. War had believed this to be some kind of salute mostly, but now he found out if he carefully tapped the surface, it showed pictures.

“You can end your training now”, War said, entirely sucked in by his brother’s little toy, tapping on the screen, fascinated by the changing pictures. He had seen a lot, but this was downright fascinating.  
Right now he was going through a collection of pictures showing women with huge breasts. “Did you choose those to bear you offspring, brother?”

Mort had been grateful for the respite, offering his thanks to those above (or below) for getting War to back off and leave him to die of exhaustion in peace.

Or at least, until he heard the Horseman commentate on pictures that or may not be part of his extensive porn collection.

Suddenly, he was full of energy and flying towards the mountain of a man, throwing himself bodily over War’s arms and hands grasping his phone far tighter than he’d held Harvester all day.

“Those are PRIVATE, dude you don’t just grab a guy’s phone like that Jesus!”

War gave an amused and surprised chuckle as he suddenly was greeted with an armful of human.

“The device gave off noises”, he informed Mort, then got up to collect Harvester. When he came back, scythe resting on his shoulder, the human was wildly typing on what he had called the phone.

“I believe you wish to take your leave?”, War asked, half on his way back to the chapel. “I will be here should you need me.”

“I thought you were sticking around me all the time?” Mort spoke before thinking about it, which was dumb to be honest, he would have been much better off with War staying wherever War wasn’t close to him. 

And besides, he had people to visit and this would be inconvenient as fuck.

“But uh, yeah, I’ll see you when I see you.”

“You clearly do not remember me, otherwise you would enjoy my company silently”, War said, and failed in hiding the disappointed notion in his words, “You should come to visit again, if only for training’s sake.”

*

“Mort!”  
Isabel’s voice rung in everyone’s ear as the young woman clung to his arm. She had black hair, dyed of course unlike Mort who really, had the blackest hair you could imagine.  
Also there were pink strands in her hair and her clothing, a dress with metal chains and buckles on it, the ripped tights and the new rock boots went perfectly with her dark makeup and told everyone what kind of music she listened to.  
Together with Isabel, there were three other people that called themselves Mort’s friends. Anna and Luke, both clad in black, a couple with a fetish for bondage that needed to be reigned in now that Anna was pregnant.   
The other guy with them was Jack who had a fetish for leather and was incredibly, unbelievably gay.

What they all had in common except for similar lifestyle choices was their fascination for Mort. Not to say they all had a little thing for him and they all had more than once tried moves on him.

“How are you?”, Isabel wanted to know with a smile, clinging to his arm. She was a nice girl, the youngest of them all but she was also the one who was most obvious about her affection.  
“You look like you had trouble with a sledgehammer today?”, Luke said, grinning slightly, “Hard day at work?”

Of course they knew where he worked and in their eyes, it made him ten thousand times cooler.

The little group, chatting and circling around their usually rather quiet and shy friend, entered the club they frequently attended.

“Something like that,” Mort rubbed his pale forehead, happy to be rid of War and every entailing nightmare creature he’d encountered on his behalf. Also he was happy not to be at the pointy end of Chaoseater anymore and he’d be damned if he went back to the cathedral of his own free will.

Tonight, he’d relax with his alternative crowd, people who were incredibly fond of him for reasons Mort couldn’t fathom. So he was named Mort Morrigan and he worked for a funeral service. He knew it was more macabre than most people would like, but it didn’t explain to him why he was such a freak magnet now.

“Are you wearing contacts? I dig them on you,” Jack threw in, hand cupping Mort’s cheek to tilt his head up to the light.

Mort blinked, finding his cellphone to use as a mirror. His eyes did look different. No longer grey, but green. An acid-neon sort of green that had nothing to do with contacts. And they were glowing. Not as extremely as War’s, but there was resemblance.

“Uh, yeah, new contacts. Help me see better at night.”

“Cool! Where did you get them?”, Anna wanted to know as they entered the club. Some metal song was currently playing and people, old and young, were dancing. Mort and his little group gathered around one of the free tables, Jack went and got drinks for them.

While Anna chatted with Isabel for a while, Luke observed their friend. Mort looked different today, as if he had seen things today no one else had seen before.  
He elbowed him in the ribs softly.   
“Hey, you okay? You look like a ghost today. Or worse, you know, a reaper of some sort...”

Mort all but flinched at the choice of words, managing a grimace around his discomfort though he knew they’d question his behaviour, weird even by their standards, soon enough.

“Ah, well, things have been a little...nightmare-ish at work lately. You know, crazy busy, with all the random attacks all over the city..”

Yeah, the ones caused by creatures who more or less wanted to eat him and his oh so precious soul. He really wished War could just pull whatever he needed from him and leave him be.

“You actually get to feel the fallout from that? Wow... There’s some people who say the apocalypse is here or something.. With demons invading earth and stuff...” Luke grinned and took his drink from Jack.

Five minutes later, Isabel had pulled Mort to dance with her. Of course he had protested, he had never been a good dancer. He always felt as if he moved with stones on his limbs, as if something was holding him back.   
Not that Isabel or someone else of his friends knew about that, Mort had always thought this was because of his general awkwardness around people.

Isabel smiled at him when they had arrived inmidst of the crowd. The music switched and the young woman reached for Mort’s hands and put them on her hips, “Come on, that’s your favourite song. You gotta show me some moves tonight, remember the promise you gave me last time!”  
Mort had in fact promised to dance with her next time, since during his last time in that particular club, he could not be bothered to do anything except drink something and look at people.

And now he was stuck giving Isabel this incredibly poor performance. His hips and shoulders weren’t talking to each other and his arms felt broken, fingers clinging desperately to the girl’s clothing as if he could syphon some rhythm from her body. But no such luck. He was a terrible dancer, looked as if he was made of wood or something equally inflexible.

“Sorry,” he kept muttering, trying to keep his face hidden away behind the black strands falling forward from the ponytail he’d banished his hair to.

“Aww”, Isabel said, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him carefully. “Nothing to be sorry for, Mort, here...”  
She grabbed his hips this time and managed to move him around a little. Even though she was leading him, Mort still had problems to move his feet at the right pace and his arms flailed around completely out of sync.

When the music switched again, Isabel finally released him with a peck to his cheek, screaming “Thank you” in his ear before Lordi began with the first tune of Hard Rock Hallelujah. 

Louder than the song, suddenly the wall next to the dancefloor came crashing down and people began screaming, as another of those creatures stuck its massive head into the hole and looked around.

Hollow eyes seemed to be zoning in on Mort for a second before it began moving, punching people aside like ragdolls.

Everything was pretty perfect, right until the wall exploded and people started to learn how to fly without ever signing up for any lessons. He heard himself shriek as loudly as the others screamed and he knew that THING was here for him. Damn it. Goddamn it. War damn it. Why wasn’t he here now, when he needed him? Where was his stupid bird?

Where was the stupid exit?! People were screaming and running and flying all around him and the door was nowhere in sight.

Somehow, he ended up on the dancefloor. Why was the music still blasting?

The ground shook as the beast faced him with greedy, orange eyes lacking pupils. Its maws dripped blood and stank of decay. Truly a demon.

Mort didn’t know if he was peeing himself or having a heart attack, but something was happening.

His hands were shaking and there was no breath in his lungs and strangely, his head was empty of fear. Why didn’t he fear this, why didn’t he fear death?

Harvester manifested in the room in a swirl of green smoke and landed in Mort’s rip. The scythe was double-sided and Mort...wielded it. With little effort, too.

The demon roared again and Mort moved forward, charging scythe-first. What was he doing?! His body was just moving on its own, as if guided by the blade in his hands. Mort was kind of screaming as he slashed at the demon as if his spirit was an unwilling passenger in his own body.

The demon howled as Harvester easily cut through the creature’s arm and amputated it the fast way.

Easily enough, Mort killed the creature only to find that this wasn’t the only thing he was faced with today.  
Another beast was coming closer over the street in front of the club. Most of the people were fleeing through the hole in the wall by now, the first demon’s stinking corpse slowly disappearing in green smoke.

Led by his scythe and the desire to survive as well as charged up by the first victory, Mort faced the new threat. A disgusting, deformed creature that looked somehow toxic and about to vomit acidic waste on him.  
Harvester did its job very well and soon enough, Mort jumped to behead the thing. 

From somewhere, hooves hitting the asphalt could be heard and War managed jump off of Ruin to throw himself over his brother right after the beast’s head flew off.   
Tumbling on the street, War clutched the human close, trying to cover up as much of his smaller body as possible as the toxic insides of the creature came splashing out of its neck, raining down on War’s back.   
The Nephilim didn’t pull a face as the fluid on his back burned itself through his armour and into his skin.

“Brother”, he said carefully, “You... I saw you. You summoned and wielded Harvester.”

“I did?” Mort glanced down at his hands where he was still gripping the scythe tightly. He was covered in demon blood and other things he didn’t want to know about, but he was unscathed. How he hell had he managed this? For the first time since War appeared, he dared to believe a little in his insistence that he was something more than human.

“Your back,” he patted at War’s shoulder hesitantly, smelling the armour dissolve in acid. Surely, that had to hurt.

“Are you alright?”

“Do not worry...”, War said, though his voice sounded somewhat strained. Ruin came closer and nudged his owner into the shoulder, giving an almost worried-sounding whicker.

With a little effort, the Nephilim got up, giving a light groan.  
Ruin nudged him again and War turned around, patting the horse’s neck. And exposing his back to Mort who might as well have looked at a split-open corpse that had seen water for too long.

The wounds on his back were nasty and definitely had to hurt.

“Can you... remember me?”, War asked out of a sudden.

Mort was staring, eyes wide and just maybe a little disgusted by the wound, barely fathoming that it could have hit him and ended so much worse. He would have been dead. He almost didn’t hear War’s question and for the first time, he had to endure a pang of guilt for denying the man what he clearly yearned for. His brother.

“No...but...I have an idea,” he picked up the scythe and twisted it to split back into two, “...come with me to my place. We’ll...put something on your back, fix you up...And maybe you can tell me a little more...about me. Who knows, it might help me remember.”

War hid his disappointment this time, after all his brother had offered him to accompany him to his private place of living.  
When he thought about Death’s sanctuary, War always got the innate feeling of home and security. His brother’s chambers were filled with stuff he had collected during all the years, especially different kinds of scythes.  
There were lots of candles, old furniture and stone walls with maps of all three realms.

And so, War was a little... confused when his brother brought him to his apartment, two little rooms stuffed with... human stuff. Smelling like human.  
Except for Dust that was sitting on the table, feasting on some half-eaten chinese takeaway.

“This is where you reside?”  
War sat down and began taking off his armour, hissing slightly when he pulled off the shirt that was partly burnt into his skin.

“Yes,” Mort replied meekly, somehow ashamed of his two room apartment. Sure, it was nice enough for the city and definitely clean and tidy. But War was probably used to...more pompous lodgings. Shit, he probably lived in a castle or something. Where did apocalyptic horsemen live? Did they eat? Sleep? Have sex?

At that thought, he looked over to the shirtless mountain of muscle and found himself staring. And blushing.

Geez, whoever tapped that was probably well and truly happy in life.

“That looks...very painful. Do you want a painkiller? Maybe ten? We need to clean the wound and dress it...”

“I would be very grateful if you could clean it”, War answered, “I am used to pain.”  
The chair beneath him creaked. “Is there another place I could sit? This one will not hold for long.”

He was led over to the sofa where he, after he removed the rest of his armour too, including his boots, sat down, back towards Mort.  
In only his pants, War still looked impressive enough, but the only thing that really reminded of his armour was the mechanic arm. He had noticed Mort staring at it. “Does it bother you?”, he asked, voice curious and maybe a little softer than usual, “I cannot take it off.”

“What, no, uh, sorry.” It wasn’t any kind of artificial arm like Mort had ever seen, it was completely part of War’s body and to remove it would seem all sorts of wrong. Mort shrugged out of his silent contemplation and got a bowl of water and some sterile wipes to clean the horrific wound with. Honestly, War probably needed the hospital, he shouldn’t even be upright with a hole in his back like that.

“How did you lose your arm? If I may ask...”

War made no sound as his human brother began cleaning the wound. Maybe that was where small hands came in handy.   
He pulled a face nevertheless, luckily Mort couldn’t see it.

The question though was kind of expected, after all the human had wished to hear more.

“We had a quarrel. You, me, Strife and Fury. I was being foolish, immature even... You decided to take my sword and I didn’t want that... You taught me a lesson, brother. I stabbed you instead of our sister and you cut off my arm.”

War’s hand landed on his mechanic arm almost as if it was a good memory.

Mort’s hands dropped the cloth, staring at the mechanical arm and War as if he was truly a mad apparition. He...He cut it off? He, the supposed brother, the beloved sibling War was trying so hard to resurrect?

Mort gave a little choked noise, like he couldn’t possibly fathom anyone seeing good in such an action.

“You stabbed me. And then I cut off your arm...is that...do we...do that kind of thing often?”

War chuckled. “No. But we trained often, when I was younger. You threw me off a cliff once.”  
He noticed the human had stopped his work on his back, “Please, continue. The healing process will start as soon as the slime is gone.”

Mort gave a little nod, still too shocked about the arm. What kind of dire lesson was that, to take War’s arm in punishment? And how could he have survived being stabbed with THAT sword?

The world War lived in was a mystery to Mort, and a dangerous one at that since it wanted his life...or rather, his soul. And possibly death.

He carried on, hands used to embalming the dead now put to use for the living. He still had so many questions to ask, his head was buzzing.

“And...we get along? Despite all of that? Where do Horsemen live? Do you eat? relax? Have fun?”

He heard all of the questions but decided to answer the latter ones at first.  
“We live together in what you might call a castle in a place that is neither Heaven nor Hell nor Earth. We eat, yes, though we can endure long periods of hunger. You didn’t need to eat at all. Relaxing...”, War chuckled, “Is an interesting idea. If you mean the time when the Council doesn’t send us around, then yes. We usually stay and enjoy doing nothing, as rare as it may sound.”

He stretched a little, enjoying the feeling of his healing skin in the parts Mort had already cleaned. “Have fun? If by that you mean enjoy physical pleasures....”, he paused, and turned slightly, bright eyes watching Mort from the corner of his eye to see his reaction as he continued, “Yes, we do that.”

Another pause, then he turned around completely, gripping the young man’s arms. White, pupil-less eyes came to rest on Mort’s green ones. “You’re my brother, Death. We will get along despite everything in this and all other realms.”

Mort swallowed hard when War talked about sharing physical pleasure. Who the hell could endure getting plowed by this mountain who wielded something the size of a coffin as if it weighed little more than a letter opener? Mort had instant visions of women the size of War and he paled to think how they could snap him in half. Did they have such a thing as apocalyptic hookers, or did they have a special term for them?

He tried not to let his thoughts show on his face.

“I just...it’s all a bit...insane. And you’re all of....you and you keep calling me brother but what does it mean for me? Do I have to die to be...Death?”

“I do not know”, War answered carefully. “I am trying to restore your memory, maybe this will be enough.”  
He looked at him more intently, frowned a little bit, then grabbed his chin with his human hand, but softly enough. Humans broke so easily, he had to remember that.

“Your eyes... They have changed, haven’t they?” It was true. There was still a stark contrast between iris and the white part around it, but the pupil was dark green now instead of black. Also, his eyes exuded a soft light.  
War didn’t notice he was pulling his brother in closer.

“Uhm,” was Mort’s intelligent reply as he got a front row view of War’s admittedly handsome face. His eyes were so white they shone blue and the mark on his head glowed like a thin trace of lava. How extraordinarily inhuman this man looked...

“Uhm, is that a...sign? Does Death have green eyes?”

“Yes”, War answered, slowly enough so Mort got a good view of his fangs for a moment. Extraordinarily inhuman indeed.  
“You had green eyes, bright ones like I do. We all do.”

War’s fingers never left Mort’s chin, no, in fact he adjusted them so he was holding more of his jaw. He turned his head slightly, eyes wandering over his nose, cheekbones, along his jawline and landed on his lips, resting there for a good long while until they wandered back to his eyes.  
“You used to wear a mask. Almost all of the time. You only took it off on.... special occasions.”

“A mask? Why?” Mort found himself full of wonder about this creature he supposedly was and only found more mystery. Did he look like Death? Was that why War held him so...carefully, with his eyes so intent and yet sad?

“So you have seen my face? What kind of special occasion?”

War was silent for a while, then said quietly, “We were close, brother. Very. Some said too close. We were even called to face the Council because of it.”

He waited for Mort’s reaction. Would he even understand what he was talking about? 

Mort was starting to feel as if War was trying to tell him something very significant, but he was missing the point. Close brothers were okay, right? Why would this special council want to see them? Were they not supposed to stick around each other? Was that like, half an apocalypse in the making?

“So...let me get this straight. You and Death were very close as brothers, so close the council was pissed off about it and he took off his mask when...”

Oh god. 

His mind connected the look, the voice, the graphic flash of War panting and pinned and begging and...

Mort turned a brilliant red.

“Oh geez. Holy fuck. You were fucking.”

War scrunched his nose. “That is a very crude expression, I presume”, he answered quietly, voice low as he regarded his human brother.  
“But yes, we shared much, even physical pleasures.”  
A pause, then War leaned in a little more, pulling the human in a little more until their noses almost touched.  
“Don’t you remember?”, he asked, quietly enough so only Mort heard him (as if there were any other people present to eavesdrop...).

“I really don’t.”

He really did, but the kind of thing playing out behind his eyelids was turning his face very red indeed and had his mind spiral away in protest. Death certainly remembered sleeping with War, but Mort only had brief flashes and those sent fire through his veins, straight to his groin.

“Did you...you know...were you...” oh god, this was embarrassing, he was about to ask a freaking horseman of the apocalypse something ridiculous.

“Were you two...like...lovers? Or was it just pleasure?”

War stared at him. He didn’t like how Mort always spoke of Death as some entity far away from himself. As if he didn’t accept at all who he was.

“... we never talked about ideas like these”, the Nephilim answered, “There was no need to. It is a difficult concept. I certainly care deeply for you, but you are my brother. How deeply am I supposed to care and how deeply is too deep?”  
He sat back a little and then turned around again. “Please continue.”  
War certainly preferred having the human’s hands at good work to him denying his past openly,even if he obviously remembered.

“Right...” Mort had little choice but to listen to War’s request. If he wanted to continue the conversation, he’d have to think of something besides the images of naked flesh he was getting. War moaning and begging and calling him brother, so deeply pleased by him he even closed his eyes, his one good hand fisted in ebony hair to draw him closer, to be even more...

Holy shit those visions were vivid.

Mort rushed over the injury, cleaning it well but without the calm air to his touch anymore.

“So you don’t need food, you’re good for the night?”

“Yes”, War answered. He picked up on the nervous tone in the human’s voice though and he had to admit he enjoyed making him a little nervous.  
The skin was healing quickly and was closing up the last nasty parts as Mort put away the cloth.  
War watched him nervously fiddling around with all the stuff and kept quiet about it.  
But when he threw a blanket at him and wished him a good night and was half out of the door,, War got up and was there more quickly than Mort had expected.  
The young man still had the hand on the lightswitch when War’s arms wrapped around him from behind, pressing him up against him.

“Brother... Don’t leave me just yet.”

Right, just finish up the job and head to bed, that’s exactly what Mort would do and once he settled his mind on it, those vivid, pornographic visions faded to a stop. He was almost in the clear when huge arms settled around him. War could probably break tree trunks and throw cars with arms like those.

Mort grew absolutely rigid, freezing as he felt a long plain of muscle curved against him...Holy shit, it was like a third...arm. Or leg. 

Nervous was now an understatement.

“Ah, War, I’m really tired, you know, demon-slaying thing and all...”

War didn’t let go off him even though his arms were only wrapped around Mort very slightly, he could have left any time.  
Ignoring what his brother had just said, the Nephilim murmured, “Don’t think me a fool, brother. You remember. It is written in your eyes,” War’s good hand came up and wandered under the shirt Mort was wearing before pressing against his chest, “the way your heart is beating, the way your blood is rushing...”

It was easy to manhandle Mort around until he was facing him. The young man was staring up at him with wide eyes that glowed ever so lightly in the dark and War couldn’t help himself anymore. Too long had he been missing his beloved brother.

He leaned in, close enough to be able to feel Mort’s breath on his skin before he whispered, “You have been wanting me even before you were born, brother.”  
And with this, he sealed the human’s lips with his own, pressing him carefully up and against him.

Alright, so this time, Mort wasn’t actually terrified, but he was a far cry from relaxed as War crushed his lips on top of his.

Oh god. War was kissing him. Mort felt as flimsy as a twig in that grip and he was hard-pressed not to pass out because damn, War really, really missed his brother.

Also his sentence had set off more than a few alarm clocks in Mort’s head. He may have had those hot flashes of scenes he’d never been a part of, but that did not mean he was exclusively reserved to War smooches and War smooches only. He liked pretty girls who found him and awkward mannerisms cute, alright?!

He was kind of pulling back from War’s overzealous mouth, panting hard and face gone beetroot red from embarrassment.

“Uhm, little warning might have been nice.”

War had kind of half-hoped his brother would miraculously remember, but awakening powers or memories with kisses was an angel thing to do and War definitely was no angel.

Silence reigned over the room when War searched for something in the human’s eyes, but even though they were glowing slightly, he couldn’t see his brother in them anymore.  
All kinds of excitement left him and he released the man from his grip and retreated to the couch.  
He should start being happy with the fact he had found his brother and was able to protect him. Not expect more.  
But War had always been someone to expect more and he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted.

The awkward atmosphere of the room only mounted and Mort knew he’d put his foot right in it. War wasn’t kissing him...he was kissing the memory of the Horseman he thought him to be. It was all terribly identity confusing for the human, but he supposed War suffered even more having to witness this pathetic version of his beloved brother.

“I’m just gonna go to bed, good night.”

He wasn’t trying to squeak, but his mouth burned from War’s touch and he’d be much better off having a long lie down after this experience.

*

The next morning, War got up early, he didn’t need much sleep after all and went to watch his brother sleep. You wouldn’t believe it, but as big as he was, as silently he could move. The Nephilim stood in the doorframe for a whole hour, bright eyes always resting on his beloved brother’s now human, but sleeping face.

Then he decided he would take a look around in his brother’s residence. Which, essentially, was done really quickly since he only had two rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom.

He decided to stay in the last room, managed to squeeze himself half-way into the tub (his legs hung out awkwardly and his arms were propped up on the sides, but anyway) and turned on the water, not caring it came out at a temperature that would have given a human a third grade burn.

Accidentally, he had switched on the radio as well, at least it was silent, so it didn’t bother him much, though at some point he wriggled his toes to the beat of some song. Bored after five minutes, War began opening all the little bottles his brother kept here and even helped himself to a little shower gel. It tasted disgusting and he managed to wash his tongue in the water somehow. Which again led to him discovering the stuff actually foamed.

Mort had an easy night’s sleep, so exhausted by the previous day’s events he just fell into blessed unconsciousness for a good eight hours. His dreams were filled with a stranger’s life and made little sense. Flashes of green fire, walking skeletons, a woman with smoke-like hair, a man whose face he could not see behind a terrifying mask, and War. Endless flashes of War.

Strange that he forgot who was staying in his apartment upon waking. Clad in nothing but his underwear, he shuffled into the bathroom for his morning routine. Only to find his bathtub overflowing with a sizeable man drinking from the faucet and all of his shower gel bottles empty and littering the floor.

“What the hell!?” he exclaimed, arms waving as he jumped over and turned the faucet off, the floor already dripping wet. “Why are you in the tub? You don’t even fit in here! What did you...jesus, did you bathe in this? All of this?”

“I assumed it served washing purposes”, War exclaimed almost innocently. Well, as innocently as someone his size could get.  
Bright eyes wandered over the expanse of Mort’s body. He was human all around now. Humans had their own beauty in a way, but War missed his brother’s boney build, the way his spine formed a texture on his back he loved running his hand over.

Then, his eyes landed on his brother’s right shoulder and a little smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.  
Ignoring the water that flooded the bathroom as he moved, he got out of the tub and grabbed the human’s arm, turning him towards the mirror.  
“It seems the more you remember the more your mortal body changes...” Parts of Mort’s shoulder was red, as if he had a sunburn there. Skin looked about to peel off and the weirdest of it all was that it formed a mark and didn’t look natural at all.

Mort just assumed his shoulder was aching from the way he’d lain in bed, but now that War pointed it out, it did look like a mark. It bore semblance to War’s forehead and Mort gasped a little as he ran his fingers over it. 

Whatever was happening with his body and soul was real. And that should frighten him, to be drawn into War’s world of demons and danger. Yet he could only hope the changes would continue, that he’d remember the formidable warrior the Horseman claimed him to be. He would not fear anything if he was as strong as War.

“This is all real...You didn’t make a mistake...but I still don’t understand a thing.”

Something that didn’t go beyond his range of understanding was his flooded bathroom, his invited friends that were coming over for brunch and the mountain of naked man in his presence.

“Right...well, we’re going to get you dressed, this cleaned up and brunch and then we can...deal with apocalyptic things.”

War seemed content with his brother finally starting to believe him. “You will remember in time”, he said and really, he hoped he was speaking the truth.

*

One hour later, War was sitting on the couch where Mort had placed him and told him to not move around the room. Bright eyes followed his brother dashing back and forth between kitchen and living room where he prepared a meal that looked most interesting to War.

It smelled nice, he had to admit that, but since Death had told him to stay put, he did as the human wanted him to.

Well, except for when the doorbell rang. Something was loud in the kitchen, apparently Mort was having some trouble with the trays and when he didn’t react, War got up to go for the door.

He was half-way about to kick open the door, but then he remembered Mort’s words about this being his chosen place of residence and he reached for the doorknob.

“He---”  
Isabel stared at the neck that was in the place where she had thought Mort’s head to be. But this wasn’t Mort, not at all. War’s eyes landed on the girl and remembered her face from one of the not-so-naked pictures on Mort’s phone.

“Welcome to my brother’s lair, humans”, he said in his most polite of tones.

Mort was struggling with the trays for a moment so he didn’t hear the doorbell, but as soon as the rebellious utensil was settled, he heard War’s voice. Talking to someone. Welcoming someone.

Oh fuck. With a leap that was all cat-like and very not-Mort, he vaulted over the couch and skidded into the entrance hall, but he was too late. His friends were already an assembly struck dumb by the man mountain who’d greeted them.

“Guys. Uh. This...is...War..ren. He’s sort of like my brother.”

He was busted. They would so know this wasn’t a human, and they’d freak the fuck out.  
His friends were dumbstruck indeed. All of them, even Jack who usually always had something witty to say.  
War noticed he was standing in the way and took a step to the side to let the mortals pass.  
He even waited patiently enough to close the door behind the group and let them walk into the living room and sit down before he entered as well, taking his seat.

Meanwhile, Isabel had been leaning over to Mort. “Your brother? He is so cool, Mort! Is he still... you know... single?”  
Jack too seemed interested while Anna and Luke were staring at War(ren).

“So he’s where you got the contacts from!”, Anna exclaimed, “Looks awesome. Did you dye your hair?”

War frowned. “My hair did not die in battle, no..” Isabel gave a little squeak, “He’s so in-chara! He’s a LARP-er, isn’t he? Warren, who do you fight as?”

War blinked. “I am War, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I fight to keep the Balance.”

This was going to be a disaster. But his friends, bless their idiotic little hearts, warped reality already spinning into place without his doing.

Leading them on in the belief that Warren was simply a very eccentric freak would do for now and Mort took a deep breath. At least he could trust in War to not break character, because that fantasy world was all real to him.

“He’s very into the scene, trying to get me active too,” Mort nodded over at where Harvester leaned against the wall, looking less like a LARP weapon and more like a bringer of doom and destruction.

Dust gave a croak that might have been a laugh about the entire situation. Mort was pretty sure the damn crow knew exactly what went on here.

“Wow!” Isabel was already on her feet again and on her way over to Harvester. “It’s a scythe, right? Looks so real!” She leaned forward, reaching out to touch the weapon that by now was buzzing with destructive, soul-leeching energy.  
Before Mort could do anything though, War was on his feet, mechanic arm enclosed around her wrist, pulling her back carefully. Then he picked her up on just one arm, as if he was carrying a child and set her down at the table.  
“Harvester belongs only to my brother. It once belonged to an Angel who fell in battle and has been looking for an owner since. My brother found it and it chose him. It is a very deadly weapon. You cannot touch it.”

Jack stared at War.  
“He’s so hot”, he whispered into Mort’s direction.   
“The crow is part of it too?”, Anna asked and as if Dust had been listening he flew over and landed on Mort’s shoulder, giving another croak that sounded like laughter, “Did you give the crow to him, Warren?”

War didn’t understand why the humans continued to call him Warren, after all he had just introduced himself, but he didn’t correct them.  
“Yes. Dust belongs to my brother.”

“Did you get a tattoo, Mort?” Isabel pointed at her friend’s arm, “Or is that part of your costume too? Looks pretty real!”

Mort had distracted himself with arranging food, though he could not stop worrying about the safety of his friends and War’s ability to keep them from touching the scythe, the bird, anything and everything that could be harmful.

But at least he didn’t have to worry in that aspect.

Only when Isabel mentioned his arm did he look at it again. And remembered the pain, all too present. The lines were etched into his flesh and wore deeper as if they were bright flames searing his skin.

“Ah...yeah, it’s more like a...carved branding?” he tried to excuse any touches made to him and did a fine job at hiding how painful it was.

“But guys, let’s eat, I’m sure we all have plans, Warren and I do so yeah.”

“Do you now?” Jack was onto something, the mirth in his eyes was dancing and promised nothing good. He kept glancing between Warren and Mort.

“You never told us about any siblings. Are you two really brothers?”

War looked at the human and found mirth in his gaze which irritated him a little. “Yes. We are both Nephilim, so are our brother and sister. Death and I though share a deeper bond than with the other two and so do they.”  
He paused and looked over to Mort.

“You call him Death? Is that like, your LARP name now, Mort? That’s kinda ironic and perfectly fitting”, Anna said with a grin.

Isabel stared at the two of them and then exclaimed, “So... you and your siblings are the Four Riders? That’s so cool!”  
While the girls were staring at War and continued to ask him questions, Jack leaned over close to Mort.   
“Brothers, aha. You sure there’s nothing going on with him, I mean I know you’ve always been a bit... curious, so... And you dig guys with cool hair, right?”

Mort knew exactly what Jack was getting at, the guy had not forgotten Mort’s foray into bisexuality a couple of years ago. Mort suspected Jack was still after some action from him, which was why he turned into such a dick every time Mort had any kind of male acquaintance at all, ever.

“It’s not like that. He’s really my brother. My really big, a little violent brother.” 

Jack snorted and patted Mort’s shoulder, which made the dark-haired young man wince and Dust peck at Jack’s hand in defence of his master.

“Yeah right. He’s tapping you. Jesus, do the curtains match the drapes? He must have a freakin’ horse cock, right?”

Mort did a fine job at turning into a tomato as he stuffed his face with a bagel and decided to leave that question unanswered. Even if he did know the affirmative yes to the query.

Jack snickered. “I knew it. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”  
But Jack really didn’t behave when it came to Mort and his crush on him and he would definitely do everything to be in the way of Warren’s and Mort’s relationship. Or whatever they had.

*

War stayed the topic of the day, but Mort’s friends calmed down soon enough, only talking about LARPing, asking questions about the quests War had done and enjoyed the way he talked pompously. as if he had really slayed all those demons himself.

When the friends settled to leave, Mort ensured to War he should stay put and he would be back in a couple of minutes.  
Just some quick shopping, he had said.

And when he returned, Mort would find his flat completely destroyed, blood on the remaining walls and his brother gone.

He couldn’t even begin to think of what had happened. Clearly, something had come for War in the twenty minutes it had taken him to gather some food in the local supermarket. Whatever it was...  
The blood was fresh and glistening and definitely didn’t belong to the demon, which meant War was in trouble. Harvester lay in the corner, buried beneath some rubble but glowing fiercely.  
Dust gave a distressed croak and Mort knew he had to find War. Grabbing the scythe, he followed the path of destruction.

But he soon realized that whatever took War had wings, and War had Ruin going by the burning marks on the street. He’d never catch up to them, never be of any help. Mort was running as hard as he could, wishing desperately he could go faster.

There was a tremor beneath him and then the ground opened up. Mort gawked like an idiot but didn’t stop running, at least until he felt something emerge from under him, something that took him onto its back and gave a fierce sound...a neigh.

Green flames streaked in front of his face and yet he was not burned. The fire whipped past his face like hair, a mane, even. Mort opened his eyes and found himself astride a huge horse, deathly pale, translucent skin and the strains of muscle clearly visible.

And he knew this was the pale horse named Despair. His horse.

“Despair,” he muttered, hand on the horse’s neck as Dust croaked up ahead of him, the other hand bearing Harvester as he blazed through the city in pursuit of War and his attacker.

Ruin had not been carrying his master, the loyal steed had only followed War who still fought a futile battle with the demon that continuously elongated his lifespan by sucking up human souls, regardless of how brutal War fought.

The Horseman was wounded by now and tightly in the claws of the monstrum. This thing had come for him though, it seemed to be on its way back where it came from. And somehow, War had the slight idea who had sent it to get him back.

Ruin was after them, he could see the horse leaving a fiery trail on the ground behind them. And then there was the noise of more than just four hooves and a gurgling kind of neigh only one horse War had encountered produced on a regular basis.

Despair’s ghostly green appearance soon caught up with Ruin, both steeds seemed to be fired up through each other’s presence and managed to catch up quickly.  
Even if Despair wasn’t without Rider.

War managed to keep his eyes open to see his brother, his little human brother hunt the demon with a fierce expression.

Despair chose direction and speed, all Mort could do was to cling on. Soon, they drew level with Ruin, War’s great battle horse with hooves of molten lava and eyes of hellfire. But he was riderless, chasing a huge creature more stone than flesh that had War tightly in its grasp. And yet, had not crushed him.

Mort was the least in control over this entire situation, and yet he knew everything was depending on him. The scythe sung in his hand and the crow gave a commanding croak, Despair charging past Ruin and leaping up with the grace of a gazelle. Mort’s legs were shaking one moment and the next, he’d pushed off of his mount and jumped to the creature’s arm. He was small and light and fast, climbing and leaping until he was on the monster’s shoulders. Only now had it noticed him and stopped to roar, but the small, human rider swung Harvester down into the joint of the arm holding War. And slice through it. Mort quelled his internal screaming as the creature took serious notice of him and barely dodged the swung, other arm intent on plucking him from his perch and squeezing life out of his bones.

As the arm was seperated from the demon’s body, War was set free and managed to roll his body in mid air and land on his feet. Ruin was at his side in a second and as soon as his rider mounted, the horse followed the demon that was still trying to get its hand on Mort.  
War had to say he admired the way the human jumped around on the demon’s body. It looked almost as cat-like and agile as he remembered his brother and seeing it made War all fired up for the battle. It had been a long time since they had fought together.

While Mort was successfully keeping the demon busy, War on Ruin managed a precise slash at the creature’s legs which brought it to fall. “Take off the wings, brother!”  
War dismounted and forced the demon’s head down though it was already struggling to get back up. “Quick!”

Mort looked at the massive wing constructs and their thick joints. How the holy hell was he supposed to cut those off?

Harvester felt light in his grip by now, a part of him in form of a deadly weapon, but there was no way he could do what War asked. Or commanded, really.

No, the apocalyptic rider in him was all worn down, for when Mort swung the blade at the joint, Harvester lodged itself so firmly the human was stuck.

“I can’t move it!” he screamed down at War. The demon began flapping and Mort was dangling loose, holding onto the scythe in fear for his life.

War’s face fell but at the same time he knew he needed to help his brother or otherwise he would lose his soul for another few decades.

He punched the demon in the snout before jumping up and running along the creature’s neck until he managed to get to the joints.  
“Take my hand, brother!”, War screamed at him as the demon was about to take off, but Mort looked as if he couldn’t manage to loosen only one hand off Harvester’s handle. The demon began taking off as soon as it adjusted to the pain in his one wing. Flying still seemed to work and the thing was intelligent enough to understand that if it flew high enough and managed to shake the riders off, he could get rid of them for now.

War growled, it was now or never. He leaned down as far as possible. “Trust me, brother”, he ensured the human before kicking against his shoulder and with this, sent him off into free fall. The Nephilim didn’t waste another second. He threw his full weight at Harvester, managed to finish what his brother had started and cut off the wing before he fell after Mort.

Due to being used to falling and being thrown around, War reached his brother in air and pressed his lithe body close to his own, almost curling protectively around him before they crashed into the ground.

As far as near-death experiences went, this was top of his list, right alongside the first time he’d ever seen a demon close up and personal.

War enveloped him, but that didn’t inspire him with much confidence, for every body could be broken. They hit the concrete of the street hard, shattering the ground. Mort felt like he’d just run full speed into a wall, but something possessed him to thrust his hand up and Harvester fell into his palm as if it could not bear to be parted from him. So here he was, lithe little human, cradled in War’s grip with a giant scythe in his hand. Their horses milled closer, snorting and nuzzling and being not quite what you’d expect from a terrifying mount which brought about the end of days.

“Holy fucking shit...holy. Shit.” Mort patted at War’s face, a second from hysterical.

“You alive buddy? Thanks for being my mattress.”

War gave a grunt.  
“‘s not over yet”, he brought out and sat up, leaning heavily on Ruin’s head the horse held down for support.

He coughed and shook his head a little. “Take his head off. I’ll go for his other hand.” It was only natural to send his brother for the climbing, since Death had always been more agile than him.

The creature had crashed down into the streets, cars were burning, humans fleeing, sirens howling in the distance.  
War knew this was far from keeping the balance, but he couldn’t help but be proud at the progress his brother made in remembering who he was.

“Right. The head.” Mort gave a hysterical little laugh as Despair pushed his nose at him, then he vaulted onto his tall mount’s back and the pale horse was off at a gallop, charging the creature head on. Mort knew what to do, despite his internal panic attack. He gathered his legs up, crouching on the hard saddle as Despair brought him closer and closer. He jumped the moment the horse dissipated into green wisps of smoke. He was going up and up and up, had no idea how to sever the creature’s head. His body spun around Harvester and the next moment, he felt cloth envelop him, a long black cloak, a hood, infinite amounts of bones decorating his limbs and bony wings keeping him suspended in the air. Purple haze surrounded Mort as he followed Harvester’s lead and brought the scythe down onto the creature’s neck, every bit the grim reaper War swore him to be.

War had been on the creature’s shoulder to cut off the arm but when he saw his brother turn into his grim reaper form, he couldn’t do anything but marvel at the speed the human’s immortal Nephilim soul took over his body and transformed him.   
He was kind of hoping his brother would be back to his usual looks after he transformed back...

The demon gave a howling noise that turned into a gurgle as the head fell off, parted from the twitching body War jumped off of.  
Next to Ruin and Despair, the latter seemingly happy about its master’s return, he waited for his brother to join their side.

The grim reaper came down fast, beginning to spin in his robes and purple haze. Despair charged forward to catch his rider who landed perfectly on his back, everything obscuring the view blown away by his landing on the pale horse’s back.

And it was not a lithe human the haze revealed, but the much larger form of a Nephilim, his skin grey as steel, his body clad in pieces of armour and leather, his face bearing a skull and eyes that no longer held pupils or innocence.

He was Death and he had returned. Despair gave a joyous, gulping neigh and reared, hooves whirling up green smoke that blotted into skulls.

Death wielded Harvester back to the two scythes he carried the blade in and horse and rider strode over at a measured pace.

“Brother.”

His voice, so much deeper and heavy with wisdom beyond the age of the Earth.

War stared at his brother, something in his chest constricting so hard from utter joy he was rendered speechless for a few moments.  
When he finally managed to speak again, his voice was hoarse and entirely too weak for a Horseman, but definitely filled with happiness.

“You’re back...”  
And then, in the middle of the street, War led Ruin next to Despair and pulled his brother into a crushing hug.  
“Death... Brother...” War didn’t seem to be wanting to let go off him any time soon.  
“Can we leave this place now?”

Death was not in the habit of indulging such affections, even from the youngest of his three siblings and, in secrecy, his favourite. War was strength personified and if Death had still been human, his spine might have cracked from the force of the embrace.

But he was Nephilim now and able to endure such violent affection. Not that he was overly used to such a thing. He raised an armour-clad hand and patted War’s shoulder, not a sign of comfort, but urgency.

“We have much to do. I suspect the Council will wish to see me. I too have need of answers.”

That got War back to his usual self and he let go. “Of course. I... presume the Council will want to see me as well...”

After all he had come to Earth without permission again...

*

The Charred Council must have seen his reawakening, but nevertheless they seemed to be kind of stunned, disbelieving even when Death stood before them.  
War kept himself in the background, hoping silently he would mostly be ignored.

“So... you returned, Rider”, the first head said, magma flowing out of his mouth in excitement or whatever it was.  
“There will always be Four, you have an immortal soul for a reason, boy. What else is it you wish to hear from us?”

Death was less than impressed with the Council. For a bunch of all-knowing rocks, they certainly didn’t seem to have had any concern about one of their four enforcers spending time as a regular human with all the memories of a thousand-year old soul. 

“Is that all you will say on the matter? I was human, the well gave me such a life. And yet, I had memories and would not be like the rest of Man. How could this be? I gave my life for my brother and yet it was not taken. What purpose did my demise serve? Does it amuse you?”

It wasn’t often he lost his temper, especially not with his masters, but as the oldest of the Horsemen he enjoyed a leader position and usually, a reasonable response from those he would serve.

“Hell sent its soldiers after me, wreaked havoc upon the Earth and yet you did not send out but one to restore the balance.”

The Council fell silent. A pause. Then,

“War, step forward.” The Horseman did as he was told, not looking at his brother who turned slightly.   
He felt the older Nephilim’s eyes rest on him.

“Tell your brother why Hell sent soldiers after him.”

War bared his teeth slightly, like a cornered animal. And he felt cornered alright. The Council was turning things against him. Under these circumstances there was only the right choice of words and the trust in his brother to understand his reasons.

“I spent decades of searching for your soul, as I promised, brother. Hell followed my example as soon as they found out your soul had found a new home... They tracked me, there was no way I could have found you without letting them know and so I... decided to keep my promise. And went to Earth.”

“Tell him who told you to go.”

War’s expression hardened even more. They were really trying to play the brothers against each other.  
“No one did but my own conscience. I don’t break promises.”

The younger Nephilim looked up and hoped to find understanding in his brother’s eyes.

He could have scolded his little brother for his rash action. He should have scolded War for repeating his previous mistake of riding to Earth when no call was made or permission given.

But he knew better than to blame War for keeping his word and honouring his promise. The Council was a dastardly old bunch, attempting their manipulation even in his presence, he who knew above all else how blame rested heavily on one’s shoulders.

“You did no wrong, War,” he placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, a demonstration to the Council just how unbreakable the bond of apocalyptic family was and always will be.

“You did well not to do your name justice on Earth,” he turned to the fiery rocks once more, could swear he saw disappointment in the flames, “and any punishment you bestow upon War will be shared by myself. Choose wisely, Council, your actions of the past were less than honourable.”

War kept silent, but his brother’s hand on his shoulder made him feel supported and powerful enough to right here and right now start a rebellion against the Council.

His brother’s words were enough to bring him to look up too and aid his brother in staring down some lava-drooling stone heads.

They kept silent for a long while.  
THen, a rumbling laughter rolled through the third one. “You two have always been amusing. You two and your unsavoury, yet unbreakable bond. We will think about what to do with you, but we hope you chose wisely in sharing your brother’s fate, Death. Now leave and await the decision.”

*

They never had a real home, always on quests and after the Balance. The only place War really described as home was everywhere where his brother, and to make it even better, his other siblings too were.  
They only met in the castle in between the realms where their reunion couldn’t affect the Balance. War was almost glad as the building came in sight, forever afloat on a rock in the middle of nowhere.

Not a word was said as they took the saddles off of their loyal steeds’ backs to let them roam free in this world that really wasn’t one.  
Fury and Strife didn’t seem to be home, but as nice as seeing them would be, War still yearned for some time alone with his brother.

To lay eyes upon this place no one would dream of was somewhat of a nostalgic experience for the Nephilim. This was now the only place he could or would call home, for it housed his brothers and sister and resembled all that was left of the Nephilim. Only the four of them, for all eternity.

Strife and Fury, the infamous duo and possibly the true twins of chaos, were not at home. Their horses would have greeted their brothers upon their return, but the castle lay still and empty before them now.

“I see Fury has taken to decoration.” Death did not mind the pregnant silence over their heads. There was much to be talked about and yet, his tongue was not loose in his mouth. He never had been a very talkative Horseman. 

Fury’s decoration was gaudy red and magenta and obviously, no one had objected to her tastes. The inside of the castle was messy, as if it was inhabited by children, not age-old entities in service of Balance.

“She has indeed”, War said, “I couldn’t keep her from it. We should get someone to clean up some time.”

He wandered around the room and only added to the chaos by putting parts of his armour everywhere. “You were a very clean human. Your.... place of residence was tiny, but very neat and sorted. Like your human self.”  
War couldn’t help but tease a bit, the memories of little Mort being embarrassed and screaming and running away still present in his mind. He strode over and placed his hands on Death’s shoulders, leaning forward and whispering to his ear, “You make an adorable mortal, brother.”

He had expected the punch to his gut and dodged it skillfully. Bickering with his brother that turned into a full blown physical fight, followed by, well, a more special form of brotherly love had always been his favourite thing to do next to slaying demons and demolishing doors.

The problem with War’s little anecdote was that Death remembered all of the embarrassingly human things he’d done and said. The screaming, the fear, everything he never was compacted into a thin slice of a life never truly his. And War witnessed that. He doubted there was much respect in his brother for him now, which meant he’d have yet another thing to earn back.

“If you speak of this to the others, brother, you will find me more adept at Fury’s name than even she.”

The punch was only the beginning, but depending on how amiable War showed himself to be, he might escape a beating tonight.

“Oh, is that so? It sounds... tempting.” War grinned and really, he only did that in his family’s presence, all pointy teeth flashing and bright eyes with mirth dancing in them.  
“You know what else was very tempting to me? Your human form. So tiny and fragile. And you were so afraid of me...”

War did his best impression of an innocent face when Death glared at him. “What? Didn’t you enjoy the memories I returned to you? Going by the colour of your face you were pretty entertained.”

“I acted as a mortal would,” Death’s expression was as much a mask as the boney one he used to sport, betraying no emotion, no inkling of what lay beneath the surface of his demeanour, “do not hold my soul accountable for my behaviour. I was merely a man.”

War was going to remember this forever. He would not forget the only time in his life when his elder brother showed anything like fear towards him and he would not be able to repeat said experience. Death would rather forget the entire thing and not consider how his little brother lusted after a body that was never truly his.

War gave a sound that sounded like a laugh and he truly seemed amused as he pushed himself off of the windowsill he had been leaning on and took off his cape completely which left him half naked and exposed the hair that would have befitted an archangel better than a Horseman.

“I will take a bath, a real one, not in one of those tiny tubs you seem to prefer...”  
He smirked and sauntered off, leaving the room.  
Death’s half-glare-half-stare on him was definitely appreciated, War enjoyed every second of it.

He was going to do two things in the next hour. First, stuff War’s mouth so he could not think of teasing Death about his mortal time again and second, to appreciate that muscular body in such a fashion his brother would not have the mind to even remember ‘Mort’.

Death followed War at a measured pace, the rider of the red horse already undressed and sinking into the large stone basin filled with steaming water. Death let his gauntlets slide off as he made to undress himself, knowing War’s eyes would not leave him for an instant.

“You’ve grown bold in my absence, War. It is almost as if you have forgotten your place, brother.”

War leaned back, looking smug and utterly content with himself. And he tried (and failed) to hide his constant stare at his brother.  
Death moved too slow for War’s taste, he seemed to be toying with him like a large cat of some sort. In fact, the older Nephilim was taking off his gauntlets so slow it began to annoy War to a point where he got up again, stomped over, grabbed his brother’s wrist and pulled him into the water.  
They both struggled under water for a second until War managed to get a grip on his brother’s upper arms and pulled him up and against him, crushing their lips together as soon as they emerged from the water.

It was seldom that they were soft and careful with each other, and this definitely wasn’t one of those times.  
When his brother’s hands grabbed his own and forced them off of him, pushed them down and pinned his wrists against the pool’s edge with the force of a freight train, War moaned into the kiss, both from being annoyed and aroused.

War didn’t yield as he should, but Death didn’t expect anything else from him. Their kiss was a battle, fought with tongues and teeth and harsh brushes of lips grazing each other and only leaving more hunger in their wake. He’d been gone so long and War missed him so, with every motion they went through that only became more apparent. Death would not be gentle with his brother, that was seldom the case of their special relationship.

His brother’s moan was enough to send his blood afire and his need growing hard against War’s stomach, only to be met with an impressive girth belonging to the other rider. Oh, how War needed and craved for his touch.

“You’ve also grown desperate, brother of mine,” Death hissed against bruised lips, grip tighter and tighter as their bodies moulded together in the hot water.

“So have you”, War retorted, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He managed to wipe his own smirk away though as he enclosed his biological hand around both of their members, squeezing rather tightly.  
It coaxed another groan from him as he began to impatiently move his hand.

The other, mechanic arm came up to wrap around Death’s neck and pull him down into a kiss that was more biting and grunting from War’s part than kissing.

He was still as rash and brazen as he had always been, maybe even a bit more out of sheer need and joy about his brother being with him again.

Another bruising kiss and War’s hand on sensitive flesh had Death give a grunt into his mouth, as if this was burden to bear that he perhaps didn’t despise at large.

Mechanical fingers, result of Death’s own actions, traced over the ridges of his protruding spine and he shuddered, fingers searching for long white hair and gripping it tightly, even fisting in the bright strands.

War was a being to be conquered, not tamed. He did not need soft subtleties, but rough, firm touches. Death tugged hard on his hair, pushing War down so he could assert dominance.  
The younger Nephilim groaned when his brother’s hand grabbed his hair so harshly. It was nice to know Death could indeed manhandle him around, but at the same time it stroked War’s ego to think he was allowing this at the same time.  
They had never fought each other with deadly intent, at least not the two of them, but War still remembered their endless sessions of training and his brother disarming him a countless amount of times.   
Even if he planned on fighting Death for real, his body would remember the older’s superiority and succumb, sooner or later.

Which was why a good foreplay included a little brawling. War always needed to test his boundaries.

And so when Death grabbed him and forced his head down, the younger brother turned his head back with a devilish little grin on his face before he began glowing red and took his chaos form in a matter of seconds. the tiles of the pool cracked under his feet when he pushed his brother off him and flung him into the other side of the pool.

The expression on Death’s face lingered in absolute disbelief for just a moment, before he leapt from where he stood, War’s fiery arm leaving the tiles cracked and wasted once more. Death swirled in a mist of purple and seconds later, the reaper form commanded the space he’d landed in. This was the only way to conquer War when he was this excitable and it was a sizeable effort on both of their parts.

There were no words exchanged as they rushed forward to clash, the dark purple and bone white against the raging chaos of War’s fiery form.

It didn’t last long, but it definitely left their hot springs/bathroom thing in an utter mess Fury would definitely complain about once she got home.

It also left War panting and pinned underneath his brother who turned him around and pressed his head down to the stone edge of the pool. The younger Nephilim moaned too loud and too aroused for his own liking when Death grabbed his hair once more and yanked his head back, exposing his throat, while pressing himself up against his younger sibling’s backside.

War was unruly and wild and utterly aroused beneath him. He took such pleasure from being conquered, more than Death gained by doing so. But seeing his brother so wanton certainly did not leave the Nephilim cold and his own desire was very apparent. With a fistful of annoyingly beautiful white hair, he forced War’s head back and his body into an enticing arch.

“Brother, your need grows ever more apparent,” Death was in complete control now and made no preamble for anymore foreplay. The brawl would have to do. War was exposed beneath him and ready to be taken, ready for them to join as brothers never should.

Death only gave a small groan once he allowed himself to slip into War’s heat, finding a resting place he would not trade for anything else in existence. It was good to be home.

While his brother kept rather quiet about the pleasure he took from this, War was far more obvious about the way he felt. He gave a groan and his metal hand cracked the stone he was leaning on as he fought the initial pain down.  
Death didn’t really allow him much time to get used to him and War loved it this way. When his brother pulled back only to drive himself back into him, the younger Horseman gave another moan, this time sounding more pleased than pained.

Soon enough, War had recovered enough to demand for harder treatment and when he got too noisy, his brother’s hand enclosed around his neck in a grip that lived up to the Nephilim’s name and had War choke.  
He was seeing stars and wasn’t quite sure if it was due to his brother strangling him or his brother fucking him. Probably both, for he certainly didn’t last long that time.

It wouldn’t be the only time, of course, so there was no need to extend their coitus, not when War was already panting and writhing and doing just about a million things that pleased Death beyond all realms of existence. 

For the sake of his own pleasure, he did not plunge into War for too much longer, holding strong hips steady as he bowed over War’s back, head buried briefly against the muscle of his shoulder as he allowed himself release. His grip on War’s neck tightened impossibly for just a moment and he felt his brother come undone beneath him, just as he should.

“Impudent little War,” he purred, his tone incredibly rare and reserved only for moments like these.

War was panting harshly, only his brother got him out of breath like that. “‘m not impudent... No wonder Fury always treats me like a boy if you describe me like that...” But his voice was soft and he gave a little purring noise when Death’s fingers ran through his hair.  
Then he placed both hands on the stone edge and pushed himself up until he sat there. Death was pulled close within a matter of seconds, War, impudent as he was, put his chin to rest on top of his brother’s head.  
before the older could complain though, the younger Nephilim began running his good hand over his brother’s spine, feeling each and every part of the bony structure.

War’s affinity to his strange body was well-received and Death actually relaxed into the touch. A seldom respite from the turbulence that was their lives.

“You are impudent. And rash. And foolish. And those are qualities that endear you to me eternally, War.”

It was about as close to saying he cared as Death could get.

War appreciated his brother’s words greatly. “You couldn’t get sappier if you wanted to, huh?”, he murmured, but his arms closed around him in a manner that was as caring as the older’s words.

“It is good to know you are back with me, brother.”


End file.
